


Still Breathing

by foxsong



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Red Plague (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxsong/pseuds/foxsong
Summary: Another morning rises over Vesuvia, the city like a festering wound and bleeding red. With each day the plague wreaks havoc new ghosts are born, and this morn as the apprentice wakes, sickness creeps deep into her bones...





	Still Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Lost memories of an Apprentice. Snippets of ideas and inspiration, part of a larger, 'slightly' canon-divergent narrative starring three siblings in the 'apprentice role'. There's not actually a lot of Julian in this one unfortunately, it's mostly just sad and retrospective in the face of impending death. :')

She is at the shop when she notices it first. The morning comes and wakes her, but the gloom in the city is thick - it doesn’t feel like the start of a new day, just the continuation of a wakeless nightmare. A thick, wet, itch covers the back of her throat, _painful_ , and she can feel a buzzing tenderness in the backs of her eyes. She has worked at Doctor Devorak’s clinic long enough to know what it is.

For a long moment she laid there, blinking in the greyed misty light of morning through the bedroom window. Slowly she breathes in, and out, testing her body, curling her fingers to feel the delicate ache in her joints. The fear is there, _she’s human after all_ \- but then so to is there another sense… a quiet resignation of sorts. A sigh deep in her chest; _Ah yes, it’s come at last for me, too_. For who in the city anymore is so proud to think it will not come for them in due time?

Her muscles ached as she got up, though no worse than after a long night of drinking - though such raucous evenings were a distant memory these days. Gingerly, she rested her bare feet against the cold floorboards - really soaked in the sensations as she wriggled her toes against the edge of the rug. She might have smiled then, quietly making her way downstairs, running her hands along the railing, drinking in all the details she’d unwittingly taken for granted for so long. The way weak beams of light drifted through the shop, motes of dust dancing in the air. Like a child she swirled a finger through them before she made her tea and slathered toast with her favorite jellies - ones she’d been saving. No need, not anymore.

There is a strange peace in her as she eats and sips her tea, watching the light shift through the windows as the sun rises higher into the sky. A haze of acceptance, until she is nearly done, and her gaze lands on the quietly ticking clock behind the counter. Her eyes feel itchier now, and the haze has begun to blur the edges of everything she looks at when she stares too long.

_She should be heading towards the clinic soon._ As the days have worn on fewer and fewer patients have been coming… Initially they’d been trying anything; attacking the plague from every angle, every symptom - but at this point, all she was able to do was give them tinctures to numb the symptoms, fog the mind. Doctor Devorak spent less time at the clinic and more up at the palace, but he still came down to rummage through his things and check in when time allowed…

Slowly she looks down at the mug clasped between her palms, watching as droplets fall from her cheeks into the soft amber liquid.

She leaves it unfinished; there is little point in cleaning up. She can't remember how long Asra has been gone. Luna hasn’t been back in weeks, Damien, days. Part of her thinks she should be angrier, sad, bitter even, but she knows that wherever they are… the three of them are always bound. It is a thought that warms her, gives her an inkling of courage. It has always been this way with them; no matter how far or how long they are apart, it never truly feels that way. She knows if she closes her eyes and reaches out… she could have them, here with her, in mere moments. But instead she grabs the last reserves of her dried herbs and oils, and heads for the clinic.

 

* * *

 

 

Claire is mindful to be cautious, covering herself up as much as possible, and finding one of Doctor Devorak’s spare masks from the back room. It’s large and unwieldy, but in some strange way it comforts her as she works. Grinding herbs and mixing tinctures, packing everything carefully into organized rows on the counter space. For hours she works without rest, feeling with each passing second the way the plague works its way into her bones and sinews. For months now she has witnessed it, studied it, felt its presence crawl through every nook and cranny of the city. Part of her still hopes that perhaps in enduring it herself she can glean even a remote understanding, find some _hint_ …

Her instinct whispers something. _Unnatural_ . It is vague and unhelpful, and perhaps bordering on delirious by the hour it strikes her. The magic in her shifts uncomfortably, and her hands go to her necklace, fiddling with it thoughtlessly as has become habit. _The source of this sickness… it has no root in the natural world._ Beyond that though, what could be said? She’d long had her suspicions already, watching the way the sickness had moved, but she supposed now she could, to some degree, confirm it - if gut feelings counted for anything. 

As the day shifts to night her knees begin to ache, and she strips away the layers of protective clothing and the mask for a break. With a huff she stares up at the tin of tea pouches, high up on the tallest shelf. A memory, not far-off, tugs at the corners of her lips, pulling them into a tired smile. The way she struggled, only to have the good doctor come and help her. She complained that all of his shelves were much too tall, and he playfully offered to adjust them for her convenience, which she swiftly enough declined - there were, after all, far more important things to be working on. ‘ _All the better,’_ he’d said with that insufferable grin, ‘ _I’m more than happy to give you a hand.’_

Even so, he’d saw fit to outfit the clinic with a stepping stool, which she now pushed into place. Chamomile and lavender; tea she’d brought to prepare especially for Doctor Devorak. As she lifted the lid the soft intermingling scents hit her, and she took an eased sigh. The memory of the two of them drifts to mind, sat in the back room. She watched him over the rim of her cup as his eyes drooped and his shoulders sagged, before he blinked up owlishly at her.

‘ _Did you drug me?’_ he all but gawked.

‘ _I did no such thing! I’m just… helping.’_ And then she took a sip, avoiding his eyes with a satisfied little grin.

In the present she sits quietly nestled up in the back room - part office, part sleeping area, with a small sitting area that one might have called a bay window if they were being _truly_ generous. The window was mostly boarded up for the time being - waiting for a better time for repairs, but the cushions and blankets there made it especially comfortable. Wound up in the blankets she fights to stave off the unnatural shivers cutting down her bones, the dull ache in her ribs as she sips at the tea. It is heavy with more than just chamomile and lavender now; thick honey barely covers the less savory flavors to help numb her against the coming storm of affliction.

He’d been working too hard -  no, he _worked_ too hard. Barely getting him to take a few small naps now and then was perhaps her greatest achievement of all… As she’d told him, more than once, she had every faith that he would find the cure. ‘ _Some sort of magic premonition?’_ he wondered incredulously. Something like that; just a feeling, really. But one that had compelled her to act, to help and support him… and the more she watched him and had gotten to know him, the more she felt sure of it, deep in her marrow.

Smiling softly to herself she sets the empty mug aside, curling up deeper into the blankets that smell more of him than she’d ever realized before. The pain subsides as a weak slumber takes her, the throbbing behind her eyes dulling as consciousness fades.

‘ _You’re going to save Vesuvia, Doctor, I know it_.’


End file.
